I'm Fine and Neither Are You(36)

“Well, I’ve spent way too much time in your kitchen, so let me know if you want a hand,” I said.

He was holding a box of instant oatmeal. Jenny used to put organic oats in a pot to soak in coconut milk overnight. In the morning, the Sweets would wake to a delicious, decidedly uninstant breakfast. Not that I was about to tell Matt this. At least he had gone grocery shopping rather than sent his daughter to the corner quick mart for bread and bologna. Of course, times had changed. Men were now lauded for cooking. I still somehow doubted modernity would have made my father more hands-on at home. He loved me, but he had loved my mother more, and for a long time the man couldn’t see further than his own sorrow.

“I think I’m good,” said Matt, stashing the box in a cupboard full of pots and pans.

I sat beside Cecily at the kitchen island as Matt finished emptying his bags. The counters were dusty, as were the knives in the knife block and the espresso maker. A stack of mail was strewn across the end of the marble island. Cecily’s lunchbox was lying open beside the fridge; the glass containers in it had not been emptied of their food remnants. If it were my house, this all would have been normal. Clean, even, by our standards. Jenny, however, would have already had her sponge and disinfecting spray out and all traces of dirt and disorder would soon be erased.

You know I wasn’t just relying on coffee to get it all done, whispered Jenny in my ear.

I shook my head vigorously. Jenny’s voice was already gone, but her message lingered. A pristine home no longer seemed quite so aspirational.

“Cess, are you going back to camp this week?” I said.

“I don’t know,” she said, but she sounded like I’d just asked her if she wanted to play with a hornet’s nest. Then, more loudly, she said, “Daddy, am I?”

Matt stopped wrestling with the empty paper bag he was trying to fold and looked at her. I was waiting for him to say, “I’ll do whatever you want, love. If you want to stay home with me, let’s do that.” He could afford to take unpaid family medical leave. Even at a high-pressure firm, the death of a spouse bought time and goodwill.

Instead he said, “Well, pumpkin, Daddy has to work. I could pick you up early every day, though.”

Her face fell.

“Miles and Stevie will be there all of the rest of this month, and most of August, too,” I said, hoping to soften Matt’s blow. “I know they’re already missing you.”

“Okay,” she said softly.

“Want to color, or maybe play a game?” I asked. She hesitated before nodding. Then she slid off the stool and ran to her room.

“Do you really have to go back to work so soon?” I said to Matt once she was gone. “It might be good for the two of you to be together now.”

He rested his elbows on the kitchen island and put his head in his hands. “Yeah, I do. I’ve already been away too long.”

My eyebrows shot up, though they shouldn’t have. I of all people knew this was what workaholics did: they worked, even when—or, one could argue, especially when—their family needed them.

“I remember wanting my dad around after my mom left. It was the loneliest time of my life,” I told him. “And that was even with my brother there.” Nick was a photographer now, and though he shared an apartment in LA with a couple other creative types, he was usually living out of a suitcase in some far-flung location. I rarely heard from him.

“It’s not exactly the same,” said Matt.

I wondered if anguish was occupying most of his neurons. Could he not see that what Cecily was dealing with was far worse? I took a deep breath. “No, it’s not. I still hope you’ll give it some thought.”

“Sure,” he said, in the tone people use when they plan to do the opposite.

“And what about you? How are you doing?” I asked, hoping to redirect.

“Me?” He seemed surprised I had asked. “I’m angry. I know it’s not right, but I can’t believe she left us.”

“Yeah,” I said. Along with frantic sobbing and sudden confusion, blind anger had become one of my go-to states. “I understand that.”

“I’m going to start seeing a therapist. Cecily is, too.”

“That sounds like a smart idea.” I decided to take advantage of Cecily’s absence. “Have you heard anything more from the medical office?”

He shook his head and looked toward the staircase. “It’ll take weeks to get the report back. Though I’m not sure it matters.”

It mattered to me. I understood it wasn’t going to change what had happened, but I wanted to know just how much I didn’t know. It wasn’t right, but somehow that bit of information seemed like a friendship scorecard that would inform me just how off the mark I had been. Everyone has a secret or two, but hers had managed to cast our entire history in a hazy light.

I swallowed hard. “I know it’s not my place to tell you what to share, but I’m having a really hard time making sense of what happened. Jenny didn’t even mention she was taking painkillers, so this came as a really huge shock.”

“I know, but what’s left to say? She made a fatal mistake.” He met my eye, almost daring me to push it further.

The sound of Cecily’s feet slapping against the wood came echoing into the kitchen. She was holding a large puzzle. “Can we do this together, Aunt Penny?”